


Color Me Green

by allmystars



Series: Color Series [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Colors, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Favorite Color Fic, Guilt, Hopeful Ending, Lifeguard Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Minor Character Death, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Police Officer Dean Winchester, References to Depression, Saving Each Other, Suicide Attempt, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26703124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allmystars/pseuds/allmystars
Summary: Castiel’s never seen anything like it. The white sand, and water that’s so blue it’s almost green. The tide is out, the locals say. In a few hours, the earth beneath his feet will be covered in water, his height, twice-over.Will it be enough?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Color Series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1943227
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	Color Me Green

**Author's Note:**

> Me doing anything and everything to avoid writing the next chapter of POMH. Just let me be, okay?!
> 
> Here's part two of Color You Blue, Castiel's side of the story. I started this months ago, then got bored at work the other day, so you may now have it.
> 
> Drop a kudos if you like it and let me know what you think in the comments!

Castiel’s never seen anything like it. The white sand, and water that’s so blue it’s almost green. The tide is out, the locals say. In a few hours, the earth beneath his feet will be covered in water, his height twice-over.

Will it be enough?

That’s twelve feet of water, but will it be _enough_?

Miles and miles in either direction, it’s all he sees. White sand, turquoise water, and clear blue sky. If he turns around, there will be more, but he doesn’t dare. He doesn’t want more.

He wants _this_.

But will it be _enough_? The tides are stronger here—harsher. They tear at the shore, leaving gouges in the earth, and shredding mountains down to nothing but dust. These tides might do it, but he’s never lost a fight against the ocean, yet.

Well, except—

But they don’t talk about that.

So, not the ocean, then. Not this time.

Castiel curls his bare toes into the sand, feeling the grains rub, sandpaper-like until his skin is red and raw. He doesn’t feel the pain anymore; not in his feet. They’re cracked and scarred, and calloused to the point of numbness.

He’s not sure if it’s nerve damage or something else—something deeper and far more permanent—but the worry that used to plague him melted away not too long ago.

Castiel knows it’s early—his shift starts in a few minutes—but the bite of salt-water air on his tongue turns his stomach.

It’s been a month, and he should be better, but the water that used to be his solace is now more enemy than friend.

_“Come on, Cas!”_

Castiel jerks, his breath catching in his lungs.

_“Bet you can’t catch me!”_

Tremors race along his spine, dipping his knees as that sweet little voice haunts him.

_“C-Cas?”_

His eyes sting and hands shake, fisted by his sides, then shoved into his hoodie as he fights to keep it down.

_“You’re a big, awesome lifeguard, right?”_

_“That’s right.”_

_“So, you’ll save me if I drown?”_

_“Every time.”_

_Every time._

Every time.

“Every time, every time, _every time_.” The hot sun burns against his eyelids, but he feels nothing but the gnawing, clawing, _aching_ pain of the gaping hole in every part of him. “I’m _sorry_ , Claire-bear. I’m so sorry.”

Not the ocean, then, because it’s already taken too much from him. He won’t offer up his own life, too.

Green is the colour of life.

Deep, and rich, and so beautiful it hurts. It’s a sign of rebirth in the spring—new life, brought into existence by the death of the old.

Castiel doesn’t want green. He doesn’t want life from death, he just wants _death_. Why is that so hard to manage?

Of course, it’s not the death that’s hard, but the letting go of life.

Not anymore, though. Not tonight as the sun sinks in the sky, minute by minute, inch by inch. The harsh metal grate at the edge of the bridge, on the not so safe side of the guardrail, cuts into the bare soles of his feet, but he hardly feels it, too focussed on the wind in his face, whipping the gashes and scars.

His beard hair is too long. It itches, filled with mud and blood and dried-up tears. The guardrail slices his palms, letting the warm blood of his life drip down his fingers, into the freeway below.

This is a choice he can make. One he _gets_ to make. He can let go any time he wants, and he _wants_ , but still, his fingers curl on the sticky rail, waiting for... something. He doesn’t know what; it’s not like there’s anything _to_ wait for, but he hesitates all the same.

Will this be enough?

Will this death by sunset do?

Or maybe he should wait? Do it when the world won’t see him fall. Fall. To fall is to fail. Fail against the eternal fight against gravity. Or maybe it’s not again gravity, but the persistent pull of death, that haunts his hours, both waking and not.

Like the pull of the riptide, tearing at him—eating away his will. No one sees a riptide until it pulls you under and, oh God, is he going under?

Red. Redredredred. It’s all he sees. All there is. Red is pain and blood and sunsets and love. He loved her, and he failed her too.

“ _I’ve got you! I’ve got... you—I... Claire!_ ”

He wasn’t enough.

“I wasn’t enough.” It’s a sob torn from his throat, and it’s red, too. “I couldn’t save her. I promised I would, but I couldn’t.”

“I know, I’ve got you.”

Not red. Very not red.

“I killed her.” It’s a whisper, pulled from ragged lungs and cracked bleeding lips. “It’s my fault.” The green eyes blink, but don’t falter, and the strong arms holding him don’t let go.

“It’s not your fault,” Life says, and he’s not red. No, Life is so green. Life soothes him; makes him want to hold on. Life helps him onto the bridge and takes his bleeding hands. Life is green. Green is his favourite colour.

He could paint the rest of his days with it.

It’s like coming up for air, now, every time Castiel saves someone from drowning. It’s like, if he rescues enough people, he can atone for not saving the one that counted.

This one is different.

Castiel is not supposed to cross paths with Officer Winchester again. Not like this, anyway. Castiel is meant to be saved by him, not the one doing the saving. This isn’t right, and at the same time, pulling the drowning man from the clutches of a riptide feels like healing wounds he thought would fester forever.

They aren’t supposed to meet again; this he knows for sure, but another tiny, hidden part of him knows, too, that it was inevitable.

“Dean Winchester? Yeah, that’s him there.”

He can feel it already, but looking at the back of the man who saved his life is a new experience entirely. It’s been months now, since Claire drowned at a beach just like this one, only three hundred miles away, and he’s in no way over it, but he’s better. Thanks to Dean Winchester, he’ll be okay.

And he wants to thank him for that. He wants to look into those eyes, the colour of life, and tell him what his existence means to him—that green is his new favourite colour and it probably will be for the rest of his life. He wants to tell Dean everything, but he’ll start with a _thank you_.

The sand is warm beneath his feet. Not red hot, but like a nice, soft yellow. It doesn’t hurt like it used to; not like he expects it to.

The air whistles in his lungs when he takes a breath, burning and soothing all at once, and with an ache in his chest for something he’s not sure exists, he moves forward to the man in the sand who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Dean, is it?”

The man jumps, startling Castiel into the smallest flinch. Dean turns his head a fraction of a degree as Castiel’s heart thunders in his chest. A flash of green. A glimpse of life before it’s gone.

“Depends who’s asking,” he says, rough and warm like whiskey on the rocks. He doesn’t sound like the smooth-as-honey officer that pulled him from the ledge before dropping off the face of the earth. Dean pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around himself, like a scared child. Like… like Claire used to during a storm. The reminder hurts—stings Castiel’s open wounds like acid—but not as bad as it used to. Not as bad as it should.

“It is, then,” Castiel murmurs, almost uselessly, because he knows who Dean is and, whether he wants him to or not, Castiel sits beside him, his legs splayed out in the sand as his heart tries to escape through his rib cage. “You like the sunset?”

Dean huffs out a laugh, bitter and painful, and the sound tears at something inside him. It’s like fingernails chewed until they bleed, and scabs picked off until they scar. “No, I hate it.” Castiel watches Dean watch the horizon like it’s his worst enemy coming back to haunt him. “Red—I hate red. And orange. Yellow, too, actually. I hate them all.”

The words reverberate through Castiel like a tolling bell, reminding him of long hours in therapy, talking about nothing but soft shades of pink and periwinkle. Claire’s favorites, and the bane of his existence following her death. He’d see them everywhere—in everything he looked at—but they’re more muted now; he can see the greens and the yellows and the reds past them. “What’s your favorite color, then?”

“Blue.” Simple. Honest. So cracked and broken Castiel feels it in his own chest. “One I’ve only seen twice in my life, and then never again.”

“What’s it like,” Castiel asks, too quiet, and without much thought. He’s not sure why he asks, but Dean answers all the same.

“It’s like… I don’t know—it’s this perfect, _clear_ blue. Not quite the sky, but not water, either. It’s darker than a robin’s egg but lighter than midnight blue.”

He wipes at his mouth with shaking hands, red-rimmed eyes still stuck on the place where the water meets the sky. “Not quite purple enough for forget-me-not, and too alive to be the dull blue of periwinkle.”

Periwinkle. There it is again. Castiel rubs at the spot just over his heart where it aches the most.

“I’ve never seen it before a few months ago, and I haven’t seen it since last Thursday, but I feel it everywhere. I feel it inside me.” Dean taps a finger over his heart, right where Castiel can feel his own pulse beating beneath his fist. Still alive. Still here. “Angel-blue, I call it.”

“Look at me,” Castiel says, needing it so damn bad now. He needs to see the life in his eyes—that green of rebirth and spring and heartbreaking _being_. He needs it more than the air in his lungs or the blood in his veins. “Come on, _look_ at me.”

And when he does, it’s like a lightning strike. Like energy bursts between them, calm like a summer’s day. Castiel looks and Life stares right back.

“Angel-blue,” Dean whispers, bursting with green and red and happy and sad. He feels like hope and loss and love all at once—like everything Castiel never knew he needed.

He’s smiling without really knowing why. “I prefer Castiel, but whatever works for you.”

“I—yeah.” Dean shakes his head, lost for words, it looks like, but he never looks away. Until he does, and a thousand fears pass over his face. “Yeah, Castiel—sorry.”

“Dean?”

Castiel stares for a moment, breath caught in his lungs and words stuck just behind. When he takes a breath, it’s with salty sea taste on his tongue as the balmy air clings to his skin. “Sea-foam… but not quite,” he muses, and leans closer. He can feel the rough grain of sand between his fingers, rubbing like sandpaper as they dig in, but it only serves to remind him that he’s alive. “Your eyes—they’re the most beautiful green…”

“Castiel.”

“Dean?”

“You saved my life.” It’s not a question, Castiel knows, but he nods anyway.

“I did.”

“Thank you,” Dean whispers.

“Thank _you_ ,” Castiel returns, and his voice is fragile—awe-filled and so full of emotion that he knows it confuses Dean; he knows just by the crumpling of his face. “For saving mine, Officer Winchester.”

He can see the instant Dean realizes, and the moment swells with meaning. It expands and pulses and squeezes Castiel’s lungs so tight, he thinks they’ll burst. There's a burning in his throat as he pictures this man sunk beneath the waves. Yes, he saved Dean’s life, but Dean saved his first.

Has been saving him every day since.

“It’s good to see you again,” Castiel whispers to break the silence, but Dean’s not done staring, eyes wandering over Castiel’s face with an open astonishment he’s never seen before. Minutes stretch on with nothing between them, but Castiel waits. Waits and waits and waits. He’ll wait forever if he has to.

He doesn’t have to.

“I want to see you again,” Dean says like it's the only sure thing he knows.

“Yes,” Castiel answers like it’s the only right answer.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Twitter at [allmystars_AO3](https://twitter.com/allmystars_AO3)  
> ~  
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> ~  
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